Like I Used to Feel You Breathe
by Scribbling Notes
Summary: "Sometimes, I convince you to let me Skype you—even when you had a lot of business-y stuff to work on or had to study for exams—and I promised I wouldn't make a noise. If you would just let me watch you, like you used to. I wanted to see you, talk to you, be near you, really bad, and for you to let me know that you were still mine." Bram/Brittana. AU-ish.
1. Hope It's Nice Where You Are

**Spoiler: **Season 4, Episode 2. A minor one, just to be safe. It's a bit AU.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. This is purely a figment of my imagination.

**A/N:** This is my take on Brittany and Santana's relationship based on Glee S4x02. It's a bit AU and Santana went to college in New York instead of Louisville, Kentucky. In no means am I implying that this is what would happen in the coming episodes. I felt so sad about the episode, for Brittany, and I had to let it out somehow. What better way than this, right?

Inspired by Taylor Swift's song, "Last Kiss".

Please take some time to leave a review because it would really mean a lot.

Thank you for reading, and ship on. (Nope, that wasn't catchy at all. Sorry about that.)

* * *

**Chapter One: Hope It's Nice Where You Are**

_I still remember the look on your face  
__Lit through the darkness at 1:58  
_The words that you whispered  
_For just us to know  
__You told me you loved me  
So why did you go away?  
Away_

The last night before you left for New York, you were as stubborn as ever. We were lying on _our _bed, the covers kicked off to the floor, my arm around your waist as I held you close. So close I could almost feel my breath against your lips.

I knew it was past midnight from the blue flashing lights of my alarm clock. The night sky turned a bit brighter and the breeze that little bit cooler. My room would've been completely dark if not for the light coming through my open window. There was a soft sliver of light that hit the side of your body, your face, and it was enough.

I didn't know how to get ahold of _all_ of you, so I just lay there, memorizing every detail of your face, the shine of your hair against the darkness, the shadows that your eyelashes make against your cheekbone when you blink. You didn't have to say anything, nor did I. As much as I love hearing your raspy, soothing voice, we knew better. We knew that we didn't need long, slow _goodbyes_. We've talked about it enough, and I think we wouldn't want our last night to be like any other time we did talk about it.

It must've been hours like that, and I hoped it wouldn't come to an end. But inevitably, in a few moments, the sunlight would come streaming into my room…

"_You need to sleep, San," _I whispered to you. I said it so quietly, somehow hoping you wouldn't hear, because I didn't want you to close your eyes even for a second. You needed to sleep, but I wanted to have _every_ second I could get when I still could. Awake, with your deep, brown, meaningful eyes looking back at me.

You didn't say anything, just blinked. Santana, you always looked at me that way—so intensely, yet so gentle, and it always made my insides flutter.

Silence continued to wrap around us. And I let it consume me. Us. It was okay. Nothing else mattered more than having you with me, close to me, feeling your warm, smooth skin against mine.

"_Come here,_" you said quietly. If it were any other time, I would've told you I didn't need to because I was already so close to you. But, in all honesty, I was growing desperate every tick of the clock that passed. I was desperate for your kiss, your touch even though our bodies were already tangled together, for your breath to mingle with mine. And so, without a moment of hesitation, I leaned in and put my mouth to yours, my heart pounding loudly. My face became perfectly warm, my mouth even more. It was _you_ all over, invading all my senses—the only time I have felt complete…will ever feel complete.

_I don't know what I'll do without you, _I thought as you deepened the kiss, and I felt my throat close up so tightly. How could I ever know…I've been with you most of my life. But I didn't tell you, Santana. I couldn't do that to you. I love you enough—more than enough not to tell you. I will never hold you back, in any way, San. I know you would worry, be bothered, if I showed you how weak and lost I already felt with the thought of having to live through my days _without _you.

It was a good thing I had my eyes shut tight because I felt the back of them feel hot, and glaze over with unshed tears. No, I didn't want to cry. I promised myself I wouldn't.

Not when you're here. Still here.

"_Love you, Britt," _you said into my mouth. "_I love you a lot._"

I felt my cheek that was pressed against yours suddenly dampen, and I think I broke my promise. I didn't know if they were your tears or mine. I hated you a little for saying them—those few words—but I'd hate you a little if you didn't either. I knew so well that I'd miss you saying them more than anything. But, I _needed_ to hear them again. And I needed so desperately to tell you, to let you know—

"_I love you more than anything,_"I whispered into the kiss."_Don't forget._"

You broke the kiss, but didn't pull back from me, your lips feeling slightly swollen and wet against mine. We stayed that way until the room got lighter, the black suddenly turning gray, then lighter, brighter. And just like that, the spell was broken.

* * *

It was hard the first few weeks when you left for college. I kept getting nightmares and I couldn't smile a lot like I used to. It was so _different _without you—not seeing you everyday, not having you beside me with your pinky linked to mine, in the hallways, in the cafeteria, in the locker room, in the choir room. A lot of times, I didn't feel like going to school, but I couldn't stand staying in my room where every corner I look reminded me of you. We spent so many hours, so many days there, even when we were fighting.

For months, we only had calls, texts, and Skype.

You used to Skype me everyday the first few weeks. You texted and called me a lot, too. You always told me how much you missed me and that you loved me. I still missed you terribly, though.

Then you started to contact me less often. Everyday became four times a week, then three, sometimes just a one or two-minute phone call—saying how busy you were with homework and deadlines, and practice, sorry you couldn't talk more often—for a whole week. College must be really tough, and aside from that, you were on the squad, too. I saw how tired you were getting every time, even if you didn't tell me. You frowned more than you did during high school, and I could see the dark rings under your eyes. When you go on Skype with me late at night, I could feel your exhaustion; you seem distracted because you don't say much, like a lot of things are trying to get your attention. It hurt because I wanted to have all of your attention, or even just some of it. But, I understood, you had a lot of things to worry about. I knew that you're so smart, strong, and I might not be much of a help at all, but I just wished you would tell me about it so I could _try_, try to take your worries away and lock them up in a small box that I'd send off to dream-ville or someplace, far away from you. Sometimes, I convince you to let me Skype you—even when you had a lot of business-y stuff to work on or had to study for exams—and I promised I wouldn't make a noise. If you would just let me watch you, like you used to. I wanted to see you, talk to you, be near you, really _bad_, and for you to let me know that you were still mine.

I waited for you every single day, never letting go of my phone even during class. I knew I was supposed to do so much better than I did last year, so that I could graduate. You made me promise you that I would, saying I had to do it for myself, and not for anyone else, but I always wanted to do it for you.

I'm sorry I failed you, and broke my promises. I just couldn't—I didn't know how. I felt so lost, helpless. I got off the Cheerios, and Glee too for a time. I couldn't focus on my classes, on anything but waiting to hear your voice again, for a text, anything at all that would come through my phone—my lifeline. After school, I still rushed home every time to go online, only to stare at my open laptop with the annoying red dot—signaling that you weren't there—beside your name. At times, I wondered if you forgot about me. You must've had. It hurt a lot, Santana.

You didn't have time for me anymore. Or maybe I just had a lot of free time. Not even free time, every hour of my waking days, because I only wanted to spend my hours on you. I admit…all I cared about was _you_ and not much about school, or anything, for that matter. I knew I would've up and left, dropped everything and flown to New York if only you asked me to. But clearly, it wasn't the same for you.

I couldn't blame you, San. Not ever.

* * *

You came home for Christmas break. I wasn't expecting you show up at my house especially because you haven't said much as a hello. But there you were, at my doorstep, your hair swaying with the light morning breeze. You didn't look any different—only, your hair was shorter—but you were still as beautiful as ever.

"_Hi_," you said. I've been waiting for you to say anything to me for so long, I almost forgot how good it felt to hear your voice. I remember the way your voice sounded perfectly, I could forget my own, but never yours.

I didn't know what to feel. I was mad at you, but my love for you was overpowering me so easily. I was so in love with you, Santana. I didn't know if I could touch you. I didn't know if I still could, and that hurt the most.

You weren't smiling and your eyes look like you'd been crying. I was afraid to ask why. I let you in, I sat on the couch and you sat on the armchair across from me. I didn't want to dwell on that because I didn't think I could take any more at that time.

"_We need to talk_." I remember your words so clearly. I stayed quiet because you seemed like you had a lot to say and I didn't want to miss a beat. You said you hate what we'd become and that it was your fault. "_I hate hurting you, Brittany._" You even used my full name and I felt my tears streaming down my cheek. I had never hated myself more for showing you how weak I was, when before, I wasn't afraid to show you how I truly felt. Nothing felt right anymore. "_I'm not good for you. I don't think I ever was, but now, it only proves it. I'm not making you happy anymore,_" you said.

I knew your mind was made up. I felt lightheaded and queasy. I wanted to fight for us, Santana. But how could I, when you've already given up on us. I put a hand against my mouth, trying to suppress my cries, so that you wouldn't hear. I felt like my heart was being pummeled over and over. You've given up.

It was the worst Christmas. The word had lost its meaning to me. I stayed in bed that whole break. My gifts were left unopened and my Christmas dinner untouched. You even left a gift for me, but I don't think I would manage or want to breathe after I see what was inside or what was written on the card tucked inside a small, white envelop. Of course, I had a gift for you, too. I saved up a lot for it, you know. But, I didn't give it to you because you didn't want me anymore, or anything to do with me.

* * *

_But now I'll go sit on the floor  
Wearing your clothes  
All that I know is  
I don't know how to be something you miss  
I never thought we'd have a last kiss  
Never imagined we'd end like this_

It's February. It's been two months since you broke up with me. I stopped crying, eventually. I don't think I've hated the Valentine's season so much. I've always loved heart-shaped balloons, and roses…your lips that had the softness of roses, more than anything.

I sat there on the cold, wooden floor of my room—right beside my bed, leaning against the soft covers—wearing your old, plain, gray shirt. It was my favorite shirt of yours because it hugged your body so perfectly when you wore it, and it's cotton. I loved you in cotton—in anything, really. You were wearing it the last night you were in Ohio with me, and I stupidly asked you to leave it with me the morning before you left for the airport. I wanted to go with you, but you said it'd be easier for the both of us if I didn't.

Nothing could really make it easy.

It seemed better to look at it this way, the sky, looking up at it through my bedroom window. It looked quite good that night, for some reason, its darkness dashed with white, bright stars scattered all over.

It'd been like this most nights, ever since you showed up at my door on a cold December morning. When I couldn't sleep, I'd slide off my bed and hug my knees to my chest and just…lose myself to the darkness of my room. To the stillness and the quiet—the things that you used to fill with your warm, soothing whispers of sweet nothings. It hurt to stay, let alone look at my bed, so I try as much not to. It's silly though, because I need it to sleep on. But, it didn't mean I have to like it. Even if I've asked my Mom to get me new bed covers and sheets, just to get your scent off them, so I could breathe. I even changed the arrangement of the furniture inside my room, too.

But, it still hurt all the same.

I used to love my room. Now, it just—

It reminds me of you. Your dark, soft hair splayed across the white of my pillow. The color of your lips that look just that extra bit of red every single time. Santana, your breathing; the way your chest rises and falls slowly, in time with my own.

My bed that had become _our _bed for a long time, it reminds me of you and I; the countless nights we spent together just lying down on it lazily to take a break from doing homework, after an exhausting Cheerios practice, or after a long, humid summer's day. For years…I shared most of my nights and days with you. And, I don't regret any second of it. Not a bit, Santana.

If I started thinking of the things that I miss about you, I don't think I'll ever be able to finish, and that's never good because I had school in the morning. But, it's all I had: the things I miss and love about you. Maybe…it's all that I'll get to have.

* * *

_So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep  
And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe  
And I keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are  
Hope it's nice where you are_

I told you from the start that I'd let you go, give you a shot at everything, to experience everything…meet someone new, even. But, you refused and said that you didn't need to because you only wanted _me_. And at the time, I believed you. I believed in us so much.

Maybe, you realized you wanted a fresh, new start. Or met someone. I tried so hard not to think that way, because I loved you a lot and I knew you loved me, too. But every day that passed, with you far away from me, I couldn't help but think of how easy you'd find smarter, prettier, funnier, more interesting people there; why would you even waste your time on me? I'm not smart, I say things that don't make sense to others most of the time. I couldn't even finish high school, and you're there with people like you. Who was I to hold you back from that?

I miss you so bad and I still love you just the same. I'm hoping you do, too. But, it's been five months. You've changed your number and I stopped going on Skype, too. But, I wouldn't go and change my number, just in case you wanted to reach me. It's stupid, hoping you still would someday, but that's nothing new. If one thing, I'm stupid when it comes to a lot of things. But, I don't care a bit if I'm most stupid and crazy about you.

I finished school, somehow. It was a good thing, but not quite good enough. I wish you were there to hear my name getting called up on stage. To see me wearing that red gown and see me receive my diploma. I didn't have anyone I wanted—my parents were there, but it was different—to share that moment with after I tossed my cap in the air. I remembered us planning how we'd celebrate my graduation. And suddenly, I didn't feel like celebrating at all.

I know you still talk to our other friends. You talk to Kurt, Sam, Puck and Quinn. If ever you find out, I hope you wouldn't mind that I ask them about you. I wouldn't pry. I promise. I just want to get a glimpse of your life now, Santana. You're still my best friend and I care about you, that'll never change. I just want to know how you're doing, and if you're happy. It's all that matters to me.

Maybe I was just a _phase_, Santana, puppy love; just there along the road to help you become a stronger person, to help you accept and be proud of yourself.

For me, you weren't. You're _it _for me. But, I still let you go, no matter how much it hurt. I know you'd do the same for me. You were, _are _always so good to me. You deserve to fly, unrestrained, and find what you're looking for.

I'd still take whatever you decide to give me, and be grateful. I can't promise I'd be happy, though, but I'd be for you if you were. I hope you're happy.

One of us has to be.


	2. Three Steps Back

**Spoiler: Season 4, Episode 2 onwards. A minor one, just to be safe. It's a bit AU.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. This is purely a product of my feels.

**A/N:** This is a continuation. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but I HAVE FEELS AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO PUT THEM. So, yes. What the show's doing to our perfect ship is truly disheartening, and I find it (canon) really hard to accept. I took it upon myself to do their relationship justice, or at least give some sense of reality. Once again, in no means am I implying that this is what happened, or what would happen in the coming episodes.

I hope you don't get confused. It's kind of a more detailed recount of Brittany's experience after their break-up patterned on the first chapter of this fic, and then goes further in time.

Please take some time to leave a review because, hey, it's Christmas soon and you've got to give love. Haha, kidding.

Thank you for reading, and **happy Holidays** to everybody! :)

* * *

**Chapter Two: Three Steps Back**

The first few weeks after you broke up with me, I couldn't talk to you; I couldn't stand hearing your voice without ending up in tears; I couldn't last looking at your face without feeling like my world was crumbling into bits and pieces. It hurt so much.

But then, I craved it. I craved everything about _you._ I had to stop myself from flying to New York and beg you to take me back every single day I woke up. I never stopped trying to reach you; I texted you, called, Skype-called, asked you from Kurt or Rachel—anyone I could get ahold of. I was desperate. You weren't talking to me—nothing—like it really was all over, like we were _nothing_. I felt like I was dying, Santana.

After a few weeks, I stopped trying. Maybe you just needed time to think, but then you'll come back and ask me to be with you again. Maybe you were just feeling really sorry for breaking up with me, or something… anything.

Five months in, I haven't tried anything apart from the little e-mails I sent you of how I've been and what I've been up to. I've finished school, and I've decided to take a break to think things out, to plan what I would do next. Since you've left, my life took a drastic turn, and I wasn't sure of anything anymore—

You used to be the only thing I was sure of.

I got one reply from you from the last one that I sent. It was very short, saying, "_Hi, Brittany_. _Belated congrats on graduation! I'm so proud of you." _As soon as I finished reading it, I grabbed my phone and scrolled my contacts for your name. I just... needed to hear your voice. My heart may have stopped beating when it said that your number was no longer in use. I haven't tried calling in a while, and sometime between, you've lost your phone or changed your number.

* * *

It had been a routine. Every day, I'd wake up early and go for a one-hour jog; then I'd get ready for dance class, and go home a little late in the afternoon. I didn't have dance classes all days of the week, though. I'd mostly spend my free days in the park, or in the mall, or in Sugar, Artie, or Sam's house. It was simple, but I was... okay. I missed you so, so much, though. But, really, I never got you out of my system; I still thought about you as much, if not more.

I haven't lost contact with our other friends but I hang out with Sugar, Artie and Sam, mostly. I visit McKinley every once in a while. Coach Sylvester's still the same, along with everyone else. Only, Mr. Schuester's not in Ohio anymore, and Finn replaced him as the new Glee Club director. He had asked me a few times to choreograph for them; I agreed because I was mostly just attending several dance classes, seeing what type of dance I was most passionate and interested in, and it would be good practice for me.

They were having a "Grease" musical in school. Finn asked me to help, and I didn't hesitate in saying yes. I was so excited for him because it would be his first _big _thing as the new director of the Arts in school. I've been there almost every day for rehearsal; everything had been going well until there was a problem with the one who'd be playing Rizzo, which was supposed to be played by (whom I think is) Mercedes' clone. So, Finn called the cast and the staff for an emergency meeting.

And then you were there, standing in the middle of the choir room.

I didn't know what to feel. There was a heavy weight pressing down on my chest as I stared up at you from my place on the floor. It's been so long since I've last seen you. You were wearing a slim, blue dress that was cut high up your thigh, showing the strong, toned muscles of your legs; your hair was longer than I'd last seen it, and it had more curls than it did then. You looked… so breathtaking and I was suddenly self-conscious—I must've looked bad, my hair must've been messy and I was in my baggy shirt and sweatpants. Of all days that you'd see me—it had to be when I'd been sweaty and completely…unprepared. I didn't know I was holding my breath until Sugar nudged my sides.

"_Of course I can play Rizzo_," you said as you turned around to face us, your arms crossed across your chest.

The beating of my heart raced, and I found myself smiling widely. Your voice sounded so good in my ears, different—no, much better than I remember.

Then your eyes met mine, and I noticed your smile faltered a little; so did mine. It only just hit me that you were staying for a while longer because you were playing Rizzo. I didn't know if the fact that having you here should make me feel relieved or—

My feelings were settled for me when you averted your gaze, and looked anywhere else but at me. I felt so stupid for thinking that you'd be so eager to see me again, that you'd want to look at me as much as you did before, as much as I did at that moment. The whole meeting, I willed myself not to look in your direction, and not feel the shivers running through me every time I'd hear your raspy, honey-like voice.

It brought back so many memories, and it was tearing at the seams the longer I stayed with you in the room—the one where I fell in love with you more times than I could count; also, where you broke my heart twice or so.

* * *

During rehearsals, we managed to have small talk more than a few times. It was really awkward at first. I never thought I'd ever need to be so careful of what I would say to you, and how I'd say them. You would ask about the weather and I'd reconstruct my reply for a number of times, just to make sure that it made complete sense. I was so cautious. It was so hard…pretending. I had to make sure that it wouldn't show how much it made my chest tightened because of how everything had changed; we used to tell each other everything and nothing.

I could tell that you were nervous—I was, too—just by the way you were chewing on your lower lip, and the way your fingers fidgeted on your sides.

It was so different than before; so many lines we couldn't cross. But, some things still remained the same, like how much I wanted to take your hand and press my lips against your palm; how much I wanted to wrap my arms around your waist, place my hand against the small of your back, and nuzzle the spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

Your lips… If I even started thinking of how much I loved your lips, I may have not been able to stop myself from brushing your lower lip with my thumb, or with my own mouth.

But then, I remembered, that it's been—what? Eight, nine months since you broke up with me? Four since you last said a word to me; but, really, who's counting?

I didn't want to do or say anything wrong—we'd only just started talking again. I didn't want it to stop.

* * *

At the night of the performance, I didn't know what came over me. Maybe it was the strong kick of the fact that you might leave as soon as we finish the play, and that I had no idea when I'd be able to see you again.

I'd been watching you for quite a while from a distance, fighting with myself whether or not I should come near you and wish you luck, or bid you goodbye.

Defeated, I felt the strong pull as I walk towards you, slowly. When I reached you, I put my hands on your shoulders and nuzzle the side of your face, your curled hair. "_Mmm,_ _hello,_" I hummed in greeting, a smile gracing my lips. You smelled so good, and you felt good under the pads of my fingertips—I couldn't help but let my hands linger, slide across your back, even for just the littlest bit longer.

"_Hi_," you said with a chuckle when you saw that it was I. You seemed surprised, then relieved, and then nervous all of a sudden.

I took a seat beside you and turned my body towards you; you did, too. "_I'm glad you came back to play Rizzo_," I said, almost regretting it because I didn't think it'd be okay to say, even if it were true. "_I feel bad for Mercedes, but if her parents want her to be a boy, then…I don't know, I guess that makes sense,_" I deadpanned.

I heard you chuckle, and that put me at ease. It was so overwhelming—the feeling of having you close, the smell of you pervading my senses, the smile on your face… all of the things I loved—still do, about you were weighing down on me.

"_I miss you,_" I whispered, careful, bracing myself for what was to come. I gave you a small, tightlipped smile, which you returned.

"_I miss you, too,_" you said just as quietly, earnestly. My heartbeat felt like it was starting to skip beats. "_The only reason why I agreed to do this play was so that I could see you again._"

I couldn't stop a grin from breaking out on my face, the heat rushing up to my cheeks. I felt hopeful, so hopeful. You still wanted to see me. The _only _reason you agreed was so that you could see _me _again.

"_Well, I'm not dating anybody new, boy or girl._" It came out of my mouth before I even had the chance to stop myself. I didn't mean to say that. Well, I kinda did, but—

Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid_.

I saw your smile drop completely, and I knew I said something wrong. The feeling in my chest plummeted, too.

You shook your head slightly, saying, "_Britt, it would be fine if you were._"

My mouth was slightly opened, partly in disbelief, partly because I needed to breathe through it, too. My throat tightened and I felt my lungs stop pulling in the air I needed to breathe. You sounded _so_ okay with it, like it would be _nothing_ to you if I'd be seeing someone new. I felt lightheaded, and I wondered if I could still stand without my knees buckling underneath me.

I wanted to beg, scream at you, ask you to tell me to wait for you; I wanted tell you that you should be the jealous girlfriend you once were; be Britt-Britt's Santana again.

But, you've moved on; it was so quick. You've—

I felt so, so stupid for believing we still had a chance.

But then you shrugged, with a small smile on your lips. "_I'm glad that you're not._"

I smiled—one I'm sure didn't reach my eyes—and I felt my cheeks starting to ache from the effort. My chest felt hollow, and I felt the tears stinging at the back of my eyes.

You confuse me a lot. I just wished you'd stop hurting me.

I couldn't remember a time when I was thankful for someone interrupting when it's just the two of us. But, I was, when Mike gave you a heads-up that you were about to take the stage soon. It allowed the much-needed shift in conversation.

"_Are you nervous about your big number?_" I asked, feigning cheerfulness.

"_Oh, God no, come on. It's all about the attitude; I'm just gonna do what I did with America in West Side Story before,_" you said, as confident as ever. I missed you, your fierceness, your confidence, your smirk… your _everything_.

Before I even thought of it, the words came flowing out of my mouth. I wish I knew what was wrong with me. "_Yeah, but this is like a sad song, right? So, you have to think of something that makes you, like, really sad._" I noticed your jaw tighten as you hold up the lipstick in front of you. "_Like, how we're not together anymore and it's okay, but it still hurts a little bit,_" I said, more to myself than you.

You smacked your lips together, and I could see your eyes looking at me from the side. "_Especially on Fridays, because that was our date night,_" I added. It hurt every single day.

You look up at me through the mirror and give me a tightlipped smile, but didn't say anything.

"_Good luck,_" I said as I stood up from my chair, not waiting for a reply.

I walked to the direction of the upstairs bathroom, knowing it would be empty, and then I sprinted when I felt the hot stream of tears flowing down my cheeks.

* * *

I tried my very best to convince myself that I didn't lose you again—not that I ever got you back—because in turn, I'd feel like I lost another part of me. I couldn't; not when I'm still trying to piece myself back together. And so, I immersed myself in dancing; singing, too, sometimes; and finding comfort in the company of my friends.

It worked a little. I thought about you a little less than I used to; I was slowly (hopefully) accepting the fact that you were moving on from me—but it still hurt. A lot.

As the usual, Sam and Sugar had been keeping me company. It's funny that I've only noticed now that they've always been there for me, because I was so focused on _you_, on _us; _I might've even taken them for granted for a time. I felt bad.

When I thought back, I remembered Sugar always sitting with me during lunch in the cafeteria; she would often share her food with me, and it was really sweet of her; she would often ask me if I wanted to hang out because I seemed sad. I usually only agreed to it whenever I couldn't get _you_ off my mind. That was before. It turned out that I liked to hang with her most (not just because I needed distraction). She's hilarious and really easy to be with.

And then there's Sam. Sam was so sweet; the sweetest boy, the only boy who has ever treated me well. Back in senior year 2.0, he was there during the first few months after you left. I was a complete mess and he was the first to notice. I could really use some rescuing that time, and Sam was there, with his big, pouty lips and dorky smile; he was there, patient, putting a stop to the train wreck I've been on, holding me, and…offering me friendship.

I guess I could've never made it (alive, or something) through senior-year-take-two without them. And, I've been okay because of them. I've been better.

* * *

It was a bright, mid-October morning when Sam called me up to have breakfast with him. It wasn't unusual, but, it felt different; it was something in the way he said my name that morning, something in his voice.

As soon as I reached his table, he pulled out a chair for me and took his place across from me. He was jumpy, and unusually serious—it was so un-Sam like.

I was right. There was something.

"_I think maybe the reason why Santana was always picking on me was because,_" he started, nervous. The moment that he mentioned your name, I froze. I was surprised that he's bringing up the topic because I haven't talked to anyone about you in a while; and actually, I've been trying—unsuccessfully—not to think about you. I kept my eyes down on the floor, unsure where he was going with this conversation. "_Some part of her knew the truth._"

"_About Area 51,_" I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"_About that I'm totally into you. You're uh—the only person that really understands me._"

My mind was literally blank at that moment. I was… I knew that he liked me, somehow, but—he was my friend.

"_I'm flattered, Sam, really. You're really awesome and sweet. I just—I can't,_" I managed to say.

He nodded, his smile no longer showing on his face. I didn't like seeing him sad. But, I couldn't make him feel better; I didn't want to say anything that I'd regret, or something that wasn't the truth just to do so.

The conversation ended quietly, and we finished our food in silence. It was so weird and wrong. He insisted in paying for breakfast and I let him. I could see that he was upset, so I didn't try to hug him like usual before we parted ways.

* * *

I went home that morning feeling really confused and… sad. I had so many questions in my head. Plopping down on my couch, I decided to call Sugar. I would usually go to Sam for advice, but I figured I couldn't talk to him about this one. I think he's just as confused as I was.

I told Sugar what happened. She didn't seem surprised, but surprised me instead by saying, "_It was happening sooner or later. Don't know why you didn't notice._" She said it like it had been the most obvious thing, and I felt dumb about it. Maybe it was. Sugar didn't lie; she has self-diagnosed Asperger's, duh.

"_But, he's my friend?_" I tried to explain my puzzled mind."_I just—_"

"_—just what, Brittany_?" she asked, impatient. "_I get it, he's your friend. But yeah, so what? It's not like there's a rule for it, or something._"

I didn't have a reply. She was right. Friends could… you were my be—

No. No. I've been doing so well, not letting myself think about you.

"_Britt? Are you still there?_"

"_Yeah, sorry._" A pause._ "You're right, Sugar. There is no rule for it. I mean, I like him, too, I guess. I just…_"

"_What's stopping you?_"

I felt my eyes shut tightly at the question. Your name was the first thought that came to my mind, and I wanted to cry, to get angry. It's so unfair. It shouldn't be that way—you've moved on.

"_Santana,_" I whispered. I didn't know I was crying until I heard my own voice.

"_It's been a year, Brittany,_" Sugar said, her tone softer. "_Plus, Sam's a great guy. You should give him a chance._"

"_It's only been ten months._" I sniffled. "_I'm not sure if I'm ready._"

"_I've never really known Santana that well, but I think she'd just want you to be happy. You just have to want it, too._"

* * *

I didn't see, or talk to him for a couple of days after he confessed. I missed him terribly. It's the longest I'd gone without talking to him. During senior year, we were together almost _every _day. And even after that. He'd taken a break from school, too, trying to figure out things—just like me. I'm really glad that he did.

I couldn't get the conversation I had with sugar out of my mind. She was right about everything, and I knew it. I just didn't want to accept it, I guess. "_What's stopping you_", "_Don't you think it's time to try again_", _"She'd just want you to be happy._" I could hear them inside my head, gnawing at the back of my mind. "_You should give him a chance._"

And then it hit me… you gave up on us long ago.

He was the one who always tried to make me laugh, even when I felt like I was incapable of it. It was him who gave me a map to reach him, to put a stop to my crazy-fest. He was the one looking at me with sincere, concerned eyes telling me that he voted for me and that winning wasn't all that mattered. He was there at (my third) prom with me, at every dance during senior year repeat; he's there when I graduated. Maybe we both won't be able to or wouldn't want to go to college, or maybe we'll just find a low-paying job in Lima or somewhere not so far. Maybe he'll always make time for me. Maybe, just _maybe_, he wouldn't leave me. Maybe I could fall in love with him.

He'd been so good to me, and he's really awesome. He did deserve a shot. I'm not sure what he saw in me. But, he'd always been able to see through it all the crazy that I am.

I had to do something first, though. I've been thinking about it for a while.

I pulled my laptop from my desk and onto my lap. I haven't checked my mail for a while, but it didn't matter. Nothing important came anymore, anyway.

To: sanmlopez  
Subject: hey

_It's been a really long time since we last talked. It's okay, though, I know you're really busy. Don't worry, this won't be long and there won't be more after this._

_ I'm letting you go, Santana._

I had to stop typing for a bit because my screen looked like it was being filled with water. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve of my hoodie.

_ I've been holding on too long, and it's been too painful. I need to do this. I'm sorry and I hope you forgive me for everything that happened. Know that I don't regret anything; what we've shared was beautiful—the most beautiful thing. You'll always be special to me, no matter how we live our lives. I'll always be here if ever you will need me._

_ I wish you happiness, good health, and a lot of love in your life._

_ Love, forever and always,_

_ Brittany_

* * *

_**A/N:** _I've been considering adding a last chapter for this story. Most likely, it would be in Santana's POV. I'm really having a hard time believing that Santana's in Lima back and forth, yet acting like Brittany and her were nothing. Also, that she doesn't have the tiniest bit of reaction with "Bram" (yes, I used quotation marks). But, hey, nothing new with that; it is Glee after all.

So, yes, thanks again for reading and I hope you'll be interested with another chapter. :)


End file.
